Marie Corelli

“ El-Râmi stared, but could see nothing,—nothing save the lamp-light and the nodding flowers.
“There?” he repeated bewildered—“Where?”
“Alas for you, that you cannot see her!” said the monk compassionately. “This blindness of your sight proves that for you the veil has not yet been withdrawn. Lilith is there, I tell you;—she stands close to those roses,—her white form radiates like lightning—her hair is like the glory of the sunshine on amber,—her eyes are bent upon the flowers, which are fully conscious of her shining presence. For flowers are aware of angels’ visits, when men see nothing! ”

“ El-Râmi’s dark features appeared to reflect the smile, as he gently touched his brother’s clustering curls, and said playfully:
“In spite of Zaroba?”
“In spite of Zaroba,” echoed Féraz mirthfully. “Poor Zaroba! she does not seem well, or happy. I fear she has offended you?”
“No, no,” said El-Râmi meditatively, “she has not offended me; she is too old to offend me. I cannot be angry with sorrowful and helpless age. And, if she is not well, we will make her well, and if she is not happy we will make her happy, ... and be happy ourselves—shall it not be so?” ”

“ El-Râmi touched his clustering curls tenderly.
“You could have made music in it with your lute and voice, Féraz, had you chosen,” he said. “As for me, I went to see Hamlet.”
“Oh, why did you go?” demanded Féraz impetuously. “I would not see it—no! not for worlds! Such poetry must needs be spoilt by men’s mouthing of it,—it is better to read it, to think it, to feel it,—and so one actually sees it,—best.”
“You talk like a poet,”—said El-Râmi indulgently. “You are not much more than a boy, and you think the thoughts of youth. Have you any supper ready for me?” ”

“ Cruel, cruel are the ways of the gods when they are thwarted;—there is no mercy in the blind eyes of Fate! To tempt Destiny is to ask the thunderbolt to fall and smite you,—to oppose the gods is as though a babe’s hand should essay to lift the Universe. Have I not prayed the Master, the wise and the proud El-Râmi Zarânos, to submit and not contend? As God liveth, I say, let us submit while we can like the slaves that we are, for in submission alone is safety!”
Féraz heard her with increasing irritation,—why need she come to him with all this melancholy jabbering, he thought angrily. ”

“ El-Râmi, my brother, leave something to God—you cannot, you dare not take all!”
“My dear visionary,” replied El-Râmi gently—“You alarm yourself needlessly, I assure you. I do not want to take anything except what is my own,—and, as for leaving something to God, why, He is welcome to what He makes of me in the end—a pinch of dust!”
“There is more than dust in your composition—” cried Féraz impetuously—“There is divinity! And the divinity belongs to God, and to God you must render it up, pure and perfect. He claims it from you, and you are bound to give it.” ”

“ Her words were vague and wild as usual,—yet somehow Féraz chafed under the hidden sense of them, and he gave a slight petulant gesture of irritation. Zaroba, seeing it, broke into a low laugh.
“As God liveth,—” she muttered—“The poor lad fights bravely! He hates the world without ever having known it,—and recoils from love without ever having tasted it! He chooses a thought, a rhyme, a song, an art, rather than a passion! Poor lad—poor lad! Dream on, child!—but pray that you may never wake. For to dream of love may be sweet, but to wake without it is bitter.” ”

“ The monk met his incredulous gaze calmly.
“I know it as I know yours,” he replied. “As I know my own, and the end (or beginning) of all those who are, or who have been, in any way connected with my life and labours.”
“How can you know!” exclaimed El-Râmi brusquely.—“Who is there to tell you these things that are surely hidden in the future?”
“Even as a picture already hangs in an artist’s brain before it is painted,” said the monk,—“so does every scene of each human unit’s life hang, embryo-like, in air and space, in light and colour. ”

“ And whether I owe it to you, or to my own temperament, I have visions now and then—visions not only of love, but of fame—strange glories that I almost realise, yet cannot grasp. And there is a sadness and futility in it all that grieves me ... everything is so vague and swift and fleeting. Yet if love, as you say, be a mere chimera,—surely there is such a thing as Fame?”
“There is—” and El-Râmi’s eyes flashed, then darkened again—“There is the applause of this world, which may mean the derision of the next. Read on!”
Féraz obeyed. ”

“ Then with all your wisdom you are ignorant,—ignorant of the commonest laws of simple Sound. Do you not yet know—have you not yet learned that Sound vibrates in a million million tones through every nook and corner of the Universe? Not a whisper, not a cry from human lips is lost—not even the trill of a bird or the rustle of a leaf. All is heard—all is kept,—all is reproduced at will for ever and ever. What is the use of your modern toys, the phonograph and the telephone, if they do not teach you the fundamental and eternal law by which these adjuncts to civilisation are governed? ”

“ El-Râmi made no reply.
“Do you not think so?” persisted Féraz earnestly.
“I cannot say definitely what is Real and what is Unreal,” said El-Râmi slowly—“both are so near akin. Féraz, are you aware you offended Lady Melthorpe to-night?”
“Why should she be offended? I only said just what I thought.”
“Good heavens, my dear boy, if you always go about saying just what you think, you will find the world too hot to hold you. To say the least of it, you will never be fit for society.” ”

“ El-Râmi turned, and looked at him kindly.
“Dear boy, you had better make new friends while you can, lest the old be taken from you.”
“Friends!” echoed Féraz—“Friends—here?” He gave a gesture more eloquent than speech, of doubt and disdain,—then continued, “Might we not go now? Is it not time to return home and sleep?”
El-Râmi smiled.
“Nay, are we not seeing life? Here we are among pretty women, well-bred men—the rooms are elegant,—and the conversation is as delightfully vague and nearly as noisy as the chattering of monkeys—yet, with all these advantages, you talk of sleep!” ”

“ I let my brain rest;—as far as it is possible, I think of nothing,—then suddenly upon me falls the ravishment and ecstasy,—this world rolls up as it were in a whirling cloud and vanishes, and lo! I find myself at home. There is a stretch of forest-land in this Star of mine,—a place all dusky green with shadows, and musical with the fall of silvery waters,—that is my favourite haunt when I am there, for it leads me on and on through grasses and tangles of wild flowers to what I know and feel must be my own abode, where I should rest and sleep if sleep were needful ”

“ The sun was shining brilliantly—some one called ‘Féraz! Féraz!’—I thought it was your voice, and I hurried into the room to find you, as I thought, dead,—oh! the horror of that moment of suspense!”
El-Râmi looked at him kindly, and smiled.
“Why feel horror, my dear boy?” he inquired.—“Death—or what we call death,—is the best possible fortune for everybody. Even if there were no afterwards, it would still be an end—an end of trouble and tedium and infinite uncertainty. Could anything be happier?—I doubt it!” ”

“ He sighed perplexedly,—the heliotrope odours floated around him, and the gleam of the lamp in the room seemed to pale in the wide splendour of the moon-rays pouring through the window,—and still the delicate sprite of Poesy continued to remind him of familiar lines and verses he loved, though all the while he thought of Lilith, and kept on wondering vaguely and vainly what would be, what could be, the end of his brother’s experiment (whatever that was, for he, Féraz, did not know) on the lovely, apparently living girl who yet was dead. ”

“ Here in this planet of which you know nothing save my voice,—here, if nowhere else in the wide Universe, we gain our bread with bitterness and drink our wine with tears. Solve me the mystery of pain,—of injustice,—of an innocent child’s anguish on its death-bed,—ay! though you tell me there is no death!—of a good man’s ruin,—of an evil woman’s triumph,—of despair,—of self-slaughter,—of all the horrors upon horrors piled, which make up this world’s present life. ”

“ She broke off suddenly and drew a long deep breath, as of sheer delight,—but the shadow on El-Râmi’s features darkened wearily.
“You teach me nothing, Lilith”—he said sadly and somewhat sternly—“You speak of what you see—or what you think you see—but you cannot convince me of its truth.”
Her face grew paler,—the smile vanished from her lips, and all her delicate beauty seemed to freeze into a cold and grave rigidity.
“Love begets faith;”—she said—“Where we do not love, we doubt. Doubt breeds Evil, and Evil knows not God.” ”

“ This is the potent charm which persuades you that life is agreeable. But unfortunately it will pass,—this rosy morning-glory. And the older you grow the wiser and the sadder you will be,—I, your brother, am an excellent example of the truth of this platitude.”
“You are not old,” replied Féraz quickly. “But certainly you are often sad. You overwork your brain. For example, last night of course you did not sleep—will you sleep now?”
“No—I will breakfast,” said El-Râmi, rousing himself to seem cheerful.—“A good cup of coffee is one of the boons of existence—and no one can make it as you do. ”